Just another squeefiend.

tiptoeaus:

(Great props to @zatnikatel for the plotbunny)

The sky was that unearthly shade of blue when you’re not sure if the gray fog rolling up is part of the sky, or smoke from a fire you’re not seeing, or maybe it’s the ghosts of old, dead soldiers haunting your every step. Dean Winchester didn’t much care. Ghosts had ceased to frighten him this far into the war. It was what men did that made him truly frightened.

But men didn’t stir now, not after twilight and before the dead of night, and that was a good thing. A respite for Dean as he shouldered his rifle and walked through the blood-soaked woods near camp. They’d fought their way down through the fields and to the fringe of the wood, and now the fires crackled red in his peripheral vision, the songs of his fellow soldiers rising up just barely audible. He wanted to leave them behind, he had to clear his head in a way that a drink and a raucous song just couldn’t.

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